


The Last Time I Think of You

by helena_s_renn



Category: Cain's Offering, Def Leppard, Music RPF, The Dark Element (Band)
Genre: Anger, Depression, Drinking, Drug Abuse, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 17:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Jani tries and tries to forget about Sav...He wanted those years of his life back, so he could have lived it without that constant presence. Butterflies that never went away. Anticipation that one day he'd turn around andhewould be standing there, and that he could come home, that there'd be a home to go home to.





	The Last Time I Think of You

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is AU to the RPG I co-write. As you can see, it's not linked to the series. Normally I don't write this character, so he should not be construed as the same 'person' as RPG-Jani.
> 
> In Nov-Dec '17, Jani was actually on tour with Insomnium, filling in for one of their guitarists.
> 
> In reality, Jani started Cain's Offering and Timo was the last to join, not the reverse as in this fic (AU again). 
> 
> This fic gets fairly dark. Jani rages, on the inside and on the outside. He's hurting, don't hate him. 
> 
> Sorry about the songfic. Skip over the block of lyrics if you prefer. Jani will be dissecting some of those lyrics in the first section.
> 
> In no way are the opinions or actions of the characters the author's, other than within the confines of this fic. No disrespect is intended toward any of the real 'RL' people/bands mentioned. 
> 
> Beta and review by ChristianHowe.

-2015

Jani listens to the 2015 self-titled Def Leppard album. Specifically, Track 12. 

_Do you remember_  
_When we used to dance?_  
_Lighting up the universe_  
_Living life for what it's worth_  
_We took a chance_

___Do you remember_  
_When we used to sing?_  
_Shooting stars across the sky_  
_A fire that would never die_  
_It was everything_

___It was all that we wanted_  
_And there was everything we'd need_  
_We were gonna live forever_  
_'cos we believed_

_Do you remember_  
_When we used to play?_  
_We were right and we were wrong_  
_Dancing to a different song every day_  
_We were gonna live forever..._  
-R. Savage 

   
Across from Timo, Jani was fidgeting, no longer concentrating on the song they'd been trying to write off and on for several hours. He had a faraway look on his face, one that Timo worried about. By now, in the years he'd known Jani, he'd come to expect that the younger man would seek him out, or they'd just 'happen' to bump into each other when Jani's life turned to complete shit. He'd called yesterday, saying he'd be in town for a while between projects. The place he'd rented was one room on the fourth floor with a microwave, a mini-fridge, and a busted elevator. 

"What is it?" Timo asked, wondering if he wanted to know. Other than in the most general of terms, Jani had never confided in him as to the exact nature of his troubles. Troubles, issues, whatever made him so broken on the inside that he'd risked his health and career over it. Timo got the sense it had to do with a long-standing... not relationship, per se; more like Jani had had his heart ripped to shreds and he kept going back for more, unable to stop. At some point, Jani had started using to ease the pain. He'd got clean, relapsed, started over again a few times now - Timo knew that to be true because he'd sheltered him through withdrawal twice already. 

Jani took a long minute before replying, "That riff. It reminded me of something." 

"What...?" 

"Just... a song I heard recently." Anger, loss, longing, then anger again - rage - rampaged across Jani's mobile features. It was almost scary to watch. 

Timo proceeded with caution. Maybe Jani would finally talk about it. He needed to. "A good song?" 

"No... I dunno..." Turning away to sift through the meagre belongings in his as-yet unpacked suitcase, Jani extracted an mp3 device and very expensive headphones. "Here..." He held out the headphones, which Timo took, and went to work finding whatever song. 

Well, it wasn't their sort of music, but it was, Timo supposed, nice enough. Maybe an album track never intended for airplay? Mostly acoustic with a prog feel under a decent solo, weird backing vocals, but then it ended too soon. He recognised the lead singer's voice, something from years ago... "Is this new?" he asked, nodding, handing Jani's headphones back to him. 

There were tears in Jani's eyes, as if he'd also been listening to the song and was deeply moved. Timo blinked, surprised, but then Jani's face contorted into something black, destructive. "Brand new," he bit out. 

Timo waited. 

When finally Jani resumed speaking, he stared blankly at the wall a metre to Timo's right. At first, the vocalist wondered if Jani was outright lying or making shit up. Why else would he rant about this person as if it were a tale of someone else's life. Yes, rant, despite the hollow, detached, dispassionate manner of speaking. Secondly, because the previous year had provided some clues which Timo kept to himself of who said person might be, how in fuck had Jani ever gotten mixed up with _him_? It defied all logic. Why, years later by any indication, had Jani still not found some way to let the wound heal? If he was here, though, maybe he was trying. 

Apparently Jani was finally asking himself the same questions. For now, all Timo could - would - do was listen. Throughout, Jani didn't refer to himself in third person, nor did he name the other party. Later that night, Timo wrote it down that way, using as many of the words and phrases that fell from Jani's snarling lips as he could recall, not in his notebook for songwriting but in another kept locked away. 

_..._

If he'd been slapped across the face, punched in the face, junk-punched, Jani doubted it could have hurt worse. 

His first impression: this person, whom he had loved so much that he'd followed him around and given his body and soul to, was selling his - Jani's - pain. It wasn't fucking fair! It was he whose heart had bled and scabbed and become too septic to function, and the person who had slid the poisoned knife in by saying, doing nothing at the exact moments action and words were needed, every fucking time, was still killing him and making a profit while doing so. Those words were... vain. Air. Lies. 

Jani didn't know what to feel. There were too many things to feel. Most burned with negative energy, enough to quench the precious few radiant, sparkling motes he'd kept banked inside himself for far too long, always in hope. This only proved it was futile, fruitless, pointless. He wanted those years of his life back, so he could have lived it without that constant presence. Butterflies that never went away. Anticipation that one day he'd turn around and _he_ would be standing there, and that he could come home, that there'd be a home to go home to. 

The sadness conveyed in the song, over something lost, was foremost. Something never realised could not be lost. Could it? "Do you remember..." The writer appealed to his intended listener's own memories to win his case, whatever the hell that was, with just the sort of wording, that, if interviewed - Jani had seen it many times with many bands - the musician would have plausible deniability, and could claim it was a universal experience that many people could relate to, not about anyone in particular. The bass line slid all up and down the fretboard. Slides, one of the few things _he_ was really good at, musically, calling out to Jani, calling for him, across time and distance and fucking why?!

__

__

Incredulity boiled over, that this bassist of a band that no one took seriously would choose to write about it now. After so long. Or maybe it wasn't even about him... them. But... _"It was everything... all that we wanted, everything we'd need"_? Those words resonated so hard, so deep within him and Jani hated it. Hated him. Wanted him burned and maimed and castrated and dead. Wanted to spit on, no, make that piss on, his grave. 

__

And hated... if those words were for him, then why was Joe-fucking-Elliott singing them? It must have been some sort of coup or blindside that allowed Sav - Jani finally gave in to the name - to pull that one off. Well, Sav had said it himself, he was a slut, so maybe it was just that simple: he'd whored himself out, and Joe-fucking-Elliott repaid his debt for getting what he'd wanted for 30 years by singing to the... cuckold. Fuck, was that what he was now!? Jani had never known rage like that, when it hit him. That should have been his and his alone, forever, no matter that now he didn't want it at all. 

__

He too - Mister Savage, anything but (butt!) - lent his voice. High, almost shrill in some parts, soft and semi-ethereal in others. It had changed. Odd for a bloke's voice to get higher with age. Was it...? No, Jani was not going to show any mercy, not even for pre-existing medical conditions. When they'd met, his first impression had been "old". In reality, he'd been one of the handsomest - older - guys Jani had ever met. Sure, he'd known it on some level, but that wasn't what he fell for. He'd thought. He could see inside him. They reached each other in some unique combination of words, gesture and touch. He - Sav - had constantly stared at Jani, and while disconcerting, Jani need only to look back for a moment to fall in and drown. 

__

Well, look at him now. He was an absolute wreck. Even if Jani suddenly lost interest in 20-year-old girls, he wouldn't touch him with a 10-foot pole. He deserved it, too, glassy-eyed and lopsided with his craggy, sagging skin and man-boobs and too-long, platinum-dyed... so ridiculous. 

__

How dare he, that motherfucker? All these years later, carrying on like they had ever had _"a chance"_. Dance - was that a euphemism for sex? Because that was all it had been. ... right. Somebody had got what he wanted, and somebody else had given up a piece of himself he'd never get back. 

__

He wasn't even referring to his arse, his hole, that thing inside that turned him from human into succubus. Jani supposed he ought to be grateful for those lessons in exactly what his body could do for him under the right hands and mouth and tongue and dick. He'd never been that alive, that open. He'd begged for it! And yeah, it had hurt at first and after but he'd fucking loved every second and every inch. Back then, it was like Sav knew exactly how to handle him, how much to give him, and when. Well, he'd had practice, hadn't he? 

__

The memory curdled like sour milk in Jani's gut. He hadn't even been arse up, no, on his back like a bitch with his legs open, demanding to be penetrated, wanting what he thought he was being given, so sure he'd seen something like love in the eyes that would never fucking let up when he'd been gone into, taken apart. He'd come screaming, the physical and emotional release too much, never enough, he wanted more, more, more with that man, Sav, not even a real name much less a real boy, just a stage persona or a shade or... he didn't even know. 

__

He would never go there again. With anyone, male, female or otherwise. Had never and would never "play" with another man. The idea made him sick. So what was the fucking point, to be shown that, given a gift like that, and then have it twisted and torn away? He'd be better off not to have known. 

__

A rift like that was just too much. Likely they would never speak again. What would they - could they - even say to each other? Put them in a room together alone and what? Jani would stare at the floor and Sav would stare at him. Jani would not want to get within metres, not that he ever wanted to see his face again nor to smell the scent of his skin which he'd associated with love and pleasure. Sav would be all hug-hug, kiss-kiss, fuck-fuck. Because that was all he knew, all he needed, shallow fucker! Child of the decadent rock star life while Jani had actually been a child at the time, set in stone. How dare he pretend he had some sort of emotional range?! Feelings?! As if he'd been affected at all. 

__

_..._

__

Jani looked up into a different pair of blue eyes. Another aging face, not quite as old but it wouldn't be long before the ravages of time got to him, too. Timo had offered him so much. He could have a band again, have music, a group of brothers, a family. And what had he given in return? It was like he'd puked up his last few years of bile, grief, anger, self-pity and despair and laid it at Timo's doorstep. The man hadn't reviled him nor shut him down. Well, he'd asked what Jani's problem was. Now he knew. Chances were good that he wished he'd never asked. 

__

Jani's left hand was curved so hard around the fretboard of his RG it was a wonder he hadn't snapped the neck. "It should be an automatic yes, but I have to think about it. Can I have a day or two?" 

__

Timo nodded, his expression saying he knew exactly why Jani needed time. "Yes, but just so you know, I have rules, same as your old leader. Drink as much as you want, but you have to be able to play your best. And no hard drugs. Either becomes a problem, you're out, no matter that you're Jani Liimatainen." He knew where to hit, Timo. The ego. 

__

Nodding, Jani slowly relaxed his hand. The metal bands had dug into the meat of his palm. The one on the fourteenth fret was sharp, he should have filed it down years ago. Now he'd cut himself again. Blood on his guitar. Nothing new under the sun. 

__

When Jani looked up again, Timo was gone. He set the axe aside and reached for his rig. Two minutes later, elastic tourniquet end held between his teeth, he jabbed the needle in, drew back to see the swirl, had a second thought, then the only thoughts were, "Fuck it, fuck him." He pushed the plunger and forgot it all. 

__

  


-2017 

__

Well, he'd done it. The song "Dead to Me" had taken more than 18 months to first, extract from what seemed like a deadened, darkened soul, and then get into a digital format. He'd taken things they'd both done as parts of the song's protagonist's litany of wrongs. Best, he got to say - or Anette did - 'harlot'. And of course, nothing, no one, worthless, dead. 

__

That was exactly how he'd felt when writing it. Now... perhaps it had purged some of the pain. As he'd promised Timo when they'd announced Jani's place in Cain's Offering, he'd kept steadfastly away from the UK and anywhere certain people were likely to turn up. They'd refused two festivals for that reason. 

__

The Dark Element got good reviews, better than good. He'd found himself enthusiastically agreeing to play a limited mini-tour between the release date and Christmas. Ten shows. 

__

If anything, he'd expected some sort of cock-up during the first show, or on the Second of December. It hadn't happened. No, not till the second-to-last show, when they were all comfortable but looking forward to the end of the run and the holidays. 

__

__

Jani stepped out into the alley for a smoke. The line for the venue went around the block, so it crossed one end of the alley. A shiny black car pulled into the other end. Huh. Their gig had drawn VIPs? That was new. He watched, puffing idly, as the driver went around and opened the door to let two people out. From what he could tell by the light at the alley's end, a man and a woman. Both blond. Long hair on the guy, longer on the woman. 

__

Jani's gut tightened. No way. Squinting through his next exhale, he stared as they began to walk his way, or, the man walked and the woman clung to his arm and tripped along, the uneven alley paving along with a short skirt and ridiculously high heels almost toppling her. Yes, no, yes. Why'd it have to be so dark? Fuck! 

__

Jani decided his mind was playing tricks on him. Even if it wasn't, he didn't want to know. But then... they passed under a light over the back door of a store across the way, and Jani got a good look. Like the movie said, his stomach felt like it was going to fall out of his butt. He needed a drink. Make that a bottle. The man tossed his hair back and said something Jani couldn't quite make out... that voice. He needed... why the fuck was his dick getting hard? He tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomped on it, and fled back inside just as the stage manager came out. Jani heard him say, in that smarmy, obsequious manner of career arse-lickers everywhere, "Mr. and Mrs. Savage, welcome to..." 

__

No one was getting him on stage tonight. For sure, not till he was loaded to the gills. Where could he even go? Nowhere in the entire backstage area would be safe, nor the dressing rooms, nor the soundboard area. Even on a slow night he couldn't hang out in the front of the house, it would be chaos. That left him the scaffolding high above, or under the stage. Yeah, the thought of that... but this was 2017 - not 1987 - and he'd be the only one there. He'd wait, and drink, and join the others on the side ramp at the last possible second. 

__

In the last ten seconds, he'd changed his mind about performing? Yes, no, yes... Jani waffled over it. He wasn't going to let that prick break him again. 

__

Or not. The worst case of stage fright in Jani's life paralysed him. Their opening band played. He drank. Through the alcoholic buzz, he heard Anette apologise from the stage that there'd be a short delay while they found their lost guitarist. Jani hefted the bottle again. Dammit, gone! How could that be? Lucky he'd grabbed two. 

__

Hurtsi found him and dragged him bodily out, kicking and clawing. Jani felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. Not only was he being an arsehole about going on, he couldn't tell any of them why and only felt worse when Anette dusted him off and Jonas looked at him like he was a small, disobedient - and slow - child. The fact that he'd been hiding and nursing a bottle, Jani couldn't deny. 

__

Fine. He strapped on his axe and stumbled out with them, sure he'd puke at any second. Like he'd once done, he adopted his stance and didn't move. The lights were too bright, too flashy. He could barely see the front row much less any possible cordoned off sections. After three songs, the lights dimmed and Anette went through the usual lead singer talk to the audience. Jani searched the crowd again. The balcony. Was there a second balcony? He couldn't see. Not knowing where... was worse than knowing. He walked over to his amps and grabbed the bottle sitting there, downing a few hefty swigs. Where was that motherfucker? He needed to sing - growl - his part of that song directly to him, or it would be for nothing. 

__

He never did get a bead on him, and that pissed Jani off worse than anything. He'd never been a mean drunk, but tonight...?! He was just beyond himself. At the end of the show, he chucked the bottle into the audience. They actually cheered. Once clear of the stage, he refused to go back on. They had to cancel the encore - Anette went back out again and sang something a capella while Jani trashed the dressing room, something he'd never done even during his first heartbreak as a teenager or when totally shitfaced. 

__

A pair of arms, strong and wiry, grabbed him from behind and held on. "Stop it, just stop." This was a whisper. Jani fought with all his might but couldn't break the hold. He was yelling, then he was crying. He'd probably pee his pants or something if it got any worse. Who the fuck was behind him? He knew, and it wasn't who he wanted. It would never be. 

__

"He's gone," Timo told him, "you can settle down now." 

__

"Where did you come from?" Jani panted when he could speak, his voice tight, still not done with his breakdown. 

__

"I'm always here... I got you." It was soothing, parent to child, almost, which Jani didn't like at all. 

__

"Vittu! Have you been to all these shows?" He didn't need to hear the answer. "Why?" 

__

"Three of my band... and I was waiting for shit like this to go down." Timo loosened his grip finally, his hands sliding down Jani's arms. The guitarist shuddered and twisted away. "You know, he's been looking for you." 

__

Jani scoffed, "Oh really. Well in the meantime, he got _married!_ Men don't wear a ring in the UK till they sign the papers. Did you see the Barbie doll clinging to him?" 

__

"You're not the only one who's acquired himself a beard lately," Timo replied, as if he'd thought of that one in advance. It was too smooth. 

__

"Fuck that. He's... probably happy." Jani literally gagged. In his mind, he blamed the liquor. Before he started vomiting, he fought down his gorge. 

__

Timo raised his eyebrows at that. "Well, _you're_ \- not." 

__

"I was _fine_ , just fine, till tonight. You know! You've been there... it's like..." Jani wiped his face angrily, and gathered himself. This shit had gone on long enough. He was in his thirties, late thirties even, not a kid anymore, not that still-impressionable, still-needy kid from a dozen years back. Not that it would be easy... some things marked a person for life. But, like cover-up tattoos, they could be hidden, and eventually forgotten. "No, I'm not letting it - him - get to me. Tonight was a disaster, a train wreck from the second I heard his voice. It happened. It won't again. If he wants to see me, he can face me like a man." 

__

"Right." Timo sounded relieved, maybe a bit dubious, too. "Shall we...?" he pointed at the door. 

__

"I need to clean up this mess. And apologise to the others. Plus I'm fuckin' drunk, so you'll have to drive."

____

"Sorta planned on it. You wanna know what your boyfriend was up to during the show?" Timo raised an eyebrow. 

____

Sometimes, though it had been a purge to end all purges, Jani regretted the fine detail in which he'd spilled his guts that one time. "Don't fucking call him that. And no." Jani's face morphed into an evil grin for a split second. "Yes." Then he went back to half pissed off, half morose. 

____

"First of all, Jani, I think there's something wrong with him, like he..." 

____

"Had a stroke?" Jani spoke over Timo, who raised his eyebrows. "No, it's that other thing he has. What else?" 

____

"Once they got to their places, he wouldn't talk to his woman, or look at her, or even acknowledge her existence." 

____

"Don't care." 

____

"I think he was in tears. I mean, just a bit. Nothing more than wiping his eyes a couple of times." 

____

"Pathetic." Jani cocked his head and considered. "And where were you?" 

____

"A metre back from them and a little more toward the middle." 

____

"By design?" It was beginning to creep Jani out. If it was true that Sav had been 'looking for him', what had led him here, tonight? Jani didn't hide his professional life at all. It needed to be as big and bold as possible, so that it could continue to sustain itself. 

____

"Sheer luck." 

____

"Sheer _bad_ luck, Timo. Help me sweep up these broken pieces." Wobbling a bit, Jani bent down to pick up a busted chair leg, and what was previously the neck of a vodka bottle. 

____

"Yes, of course." Timo looked away, didn't say it but the sentiment was there. _"I always do, and I always will."_

____

____

Fin. 

____


End file.
